by Bobbi Smith
Catherine had fallen heavily into the dirt, and she and Alex looked on in horrified fascination as Malik felled the evil man.
"Malik!" Never in her wildest dreams had Catherine imagined she would be glad to see him again, but she was. She longed to throw herself into his arms and know the haven of his embrace.
Those who had gathered to watch Grimes and Catherine scattered to the four winds in fright and horror at the bloodshed.
Malik reined in his mount and maneuvered back to Catherine's side. She had gotten to her feet by the time he reached her, and Malik leaned over to grasp her by the waist and haul her up on his saddle in front of him.
"Serad, mount up with Hasim," Malik ordered, his features a stony mask. He was so tense he couldn't decide whether to beat Catherine or hold her close to his heart. The feel of her slender, quaking form clinging to him nearly drove him out of his mind. He had feared he would never see her again. He had thought her lost to him forever. He offered up silent thanks for her safe return.
"Yes, Malik," Alex answered as he scrambled to get up and then raced to his friend's side. Hasim helped him climb up behind him on his horse.
"Alex . . ." Catherine finally managed a word. She wanted to make sure he was all right.
"His name is Serad. You will use that name for him from now on," Malik ground out as he wheeled his stallion around and rode for the palace.
"His name is Alex. He's the future Duke of Huntington," she protested, tears glistening in her eyes as she realized the futility of her battle with Malik. It was over. She had lost. They would never be leaving Algiers. There was a bitterness in her heart as she faced the finality of it, but at the same time, she found that being safe in Malik's arms was a heavenly sensation. It confused her tremendously.
"His name is Serad!" Malik thundered. "He will be raised here along with Hasim to become as one of us. I will not hear of him being schooled in your English ways any longer. You will not speak to him of your home, your heritage, or your family. You will not talk about the past. As far as you are both concerned, the past began the day you arrived at the palace."
"But . . ."
"If I find that you have disobeyed me in this, I will separate the two of you, and you will never see the boy again. Do you understand me?"
The terrible look he gave her convinced her that he was serious—deadly serious—and she trembled before the force of him. "Yes," she managed in a strained voice.
"And, as the boy is called Serad now, you, too, will be known by another name. No longer will you be called the English Catherine. I give you the name of Rabi, and you will use it at all times. I do not ever want to hear the other names again." As if emphasizing his decree, he put his heels harder to his mount's sides and urged it to an even quicker pace.
Catherine accepted then and there that her future happiness depended on her ability to accept completely that which she was powerless to change. She only hoped she could do it. She knew it would not be easy.
Chapter Twelve
Spring, 1807
Eighteen years later in Boston . . .
"Lady Wakefield—
His Grace, the Duke of Huntington, has suffered a serious setback in his health. While his condition at this time is not critical, it is not known whether His Grace will make a complete recovery. I will keep you informed if there are any changes.
Sincerely,
Sir Henry Townsend
Solicitor-at-Law"
Vivienne read the note again, still absorbing the import of the message. When she looked up from the missive, her expression was apprehensive. She'd always known that eventually she would have to face the duke's death, and it was not a pleasant thing.
Not that she personally cared about Edward. She didn't. It was just that in the years since he'd had taken her under his wing, he had provided her with a very comfortable monthly allowance. While not extravagant, when coupled with the ransom money she had stashed away, Vivienne had never had to worry about her income again.
Now, though, it seemed to Vivienne that her security was threatened. She had no idea what provisions Edward had made for her in his will, and that worried her greatly. Certainly, as the widow of his only son, she was entitled to something, but it surely would not be much. Most likely after his death, her standard of living would depend on the good graces of the new Duke of Huntington, and the way things stood now, barring a miraculous return of Avery or Alexander from the dead, the title was due to pass to a distant cousin who neither knew nor cared about her. Her days of living on the Wakefield money might soon be coming to an end unless she took some action.
Vivienne's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she reconsidered the wild idea she'd had not too long before concerning the young, handsome, dark-haired actor, David Markham. She'd seen him on stage in Boston and had not only appreciated his fine thespian skills, but his uncanny resemblance to Avery. Seeing him had given her a gem of an idea, and while she hadn't acted on it before, she knew now she would. It was a risk, a wildly outrageous plan, actually, but it was one she was willing to take. Certainly, she had nothing to lose in trying if Edward died.
Vivienne knew she was going to have to act quickly. She jotted off a note to a man she knew who did investigations, then summoned her servant. Giving instructions to the young girl to deliver the letter, she sat back to wait. With any luck, this wouldn't take too long at all.
David Markham was despondent. He sat by himself in the bar near the docks, nursing his glass of whiskey. When he'd gotten up that morning, he hadn't believed that things could get any worse, but he'd been wrong. First, there had been the loss of his parents, killed in a tragic fire that had swept through their home six months before. Then, to add to David's misery, he'd discovered that his father had run up large debts against the family business, a small dry goods store. Creditors had descended on the estate like vultures before his parents were even cold in the ground, and when all had been said and done, David had been left penniless with some of his father's debts still left to pay. He'd managed for a time, giving the creditors a little bit each week out of the money he earned from his acting, but then yesterday had come the final killing blow. He'd been informed that the play he was performing in was closing suddenly, and he was out of work immediately.
David took a deep drink, suddenly wanting to drown his sorrows. The emotional strain of the last few months had taken their toll. He felt alone and desperate. The creditors would be expecting their payments, but he had nothing left to give them, only his few suits of clothing and a very few personal possessions that he kept in his room in the rundown boardinghouse where he stayed. At twenty-six, he almost felt as if his life were over.
When the bargirl appeared at his side, David did not send her away, but fell victim to her charms. After downing a few more of the drinks that she served him, he quickly took her up on her proposition. His steps were unsteady as he followed her upstairs to her room.
David didn't stay with her long. He returned to his room at the boardinghouse and slept soundly the rest of the night, thanks to the potent liquor. The next morning found him completely confused and bewildered when constables showed up at his room to arrest him for the girl's death. She had been found strangled in her room. His pleas of innocence fell on deaf ears, and he was dragged away and locked up in jail. Forsaken, terrified, and very hung over, he was left to rot in the jail cell.
David told himself he couldn't have done it, that he was not a violent man. But the proof against him was so overwhelming that after a few desperate days and sleepless nights, he almost convinced himself that he had, indeed, murdered the girl.
Alone and without hope, David sat in the spartanly furnished cell. He heard the sound of voices in the outer part of the jail, but paid little heed believing it could have nothing to do with him. He had no one to call upon as witness, for no one had seen him return to his room at the boardinghouse. He'd been alone from the moment he'd left her. He could mount no reasonable defense.
"Markham, yo
u're free to go," the constable said grimly as he appeared before his cell and unlocked the barred door.
David was in complete shock. After all the accusations that had been leveled at him, he couldn't understand why they were finally releasing him.
"The lady you were protecting has come and told us the truth about where you were that night," the officer said with gruff resentment. He had thought they'd had the murder solved, but the lady's testimony had proven them wrong. "You're free to go."
He was totally dumbstruck. What lady? What was going on?
"She's waiting for you in her carriage outside."
David was still having trouble comprehending what was going on. He frowned. "You finally believe me? I can go?"
The constable nodded.
David didn't take the time to question his good fortune. He didn't know who this mysterious woman was who'd rescued him, but he intended to find out right now and thank her for her help.
Vivienne was sitting in her carriage watching discreetly out the window. When she saw the young man emerge from the jail and head straight toward her carriage, she smiled. Soon her plan would be fully under way, and all because she'd been smart enough to utilize the right people. It had cost her a lot, but looking at Markham now, she knew it had been worth it.
"Please come in, Mr. Markham," Vivienne invited in a quiet voice as David approached the carriage.
Puzzled, not recognizing the soft, cultured English voice at all, he hesitated for a moment, then opened the carriage door.
"Join me."
Squinting against the darkness of the interior, David tried to get a good look at the woman who'd saved him. But she was sitting back in the shadows and he had only a vague impression of wealth and presence. "Thank you," he said, climbing in adroitly.
"You may close the door."
David did as he was told. He took a seat across from her, and there in the dimness of the interior he could see more clearly and knew that his first impression of her had been correct. She was a stunning woman, although some years older than himself. He also realized that he had never seen her before in his life. She was a complete stranger to him, and he had no idea why she had saved him from jail.
"Do I know you?" he asked, breaking the momentary silence.
"No," Vivienne answered slowly, enjoying the feeling of being a powerful predator about to take its prey, "but I know you. "
"I don't understand. How could you know me? And why would you come and get me out of jail? What did you tell them?"
She shrugged carelessly. "Merely that you passed the entire evening with me that night and could not possibly have been with the girl."
"But they had witnesses at the bar who saw me there, and I was there."
"I have witnesses who saw you with me."
He blinked at that statement, and then his gaze narrowed. She had to have some other motive for lying to get him released from jail. "What do you want?"
"I have an offer to make you, Mr. Markham," Vivienne said coolly.
"What kind of offer?"
"A business proposition, so to speak. I have an acting job available. I'm looking for a young man of your qualifications. Tall, handsome, dark hair and . . ." She leaned forward to get a better look at his eyes. She'd had no idea what color they were, and she was thrilled to find that they were gray, just as Alexander's had been. A wolfish smile curved her lovely mouth. "And gray eyes. You're perfect for the part, but then I knew that before."
"Wait. This is a little overwhelming." He didn't know who she was or what she really wanted. "You say you know who I am and that you came here to the jail to get me out because you need me to play a part for you?"
"I always sensed you were brilliant," Vivienne replied with a touch of snideness. "I need you to become my missing son."
"Your son? Why?" he asked, really confused.
She gave a sinister laugh. "For money, of course. There's a fortune at stake here, and unless I can produce the heir, my son, Alexander, all will be lost."
"Where is your son?"
"He disappeared at sea some eighteen years ago, and his body was never found. We're still searching for him, but there's not much hope left now. The duke, however, is very old and he's sick. If he dies without an heir, the duchy will pass to a distant relative. I want the money and the power, and I can get it through you."
"You're related to a duke?" David was stunned.
She paused, then said with assurance, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Vivienne Wakefield. My father-in-law is Edward Wakefield, Duke of Huntington."
He went a little pale. Though he had been born and raised here in America, he knew all about English nobility and how the dukes were very rich, very important men. "You can't be serious?"
"Oh, I'm very serious," she returned. "I've seen you act on stage, Mr. Markham. I know you could manage it."
"What exactly would I have to do?" He was still hesitant, his moral upbringing deeply imbedded in his character.
"We would return together to establish your true identity. Your story would be that you were taken by pirates, sold into captivity as a child, and eventually went to sea. You ended up here in America, where, miraculously, the men I've had searching for you all these years found you, and we were reunited. It's a touching story, don't you think?"
"Yes, but it's illegal . . . isn't it?"
Vivienne gave him a piercing, deadly look. "Mr. Markham, I can suddenly change my testimony, admit that I was lying, and put you back in jail in about two minutes. Do I make myself clear?"
"Very."
"Good," she smiled. "It's very simple, really. You would be living in luxurious splendor, eat exotic foods every day, and have more money than you can spend for the rest of your life."
"There would be money?" he repeated, thinking of his father's debts.
"Yes, but I would control it," Vivienne informed him sharply. "You will claim the money, but it will be all mine. If we strike a bargain now, I promise you that you will never want for another material thing for as long as you live."
David had always been painfully honest and hardworking. He balked at what amounted to stealing the duke's fortune, but he knew if he refused her offer she would do exactly what she threatened, and then there would be no tomorrow for him. He would end up being hung for a crime he had not committed. It troubled him that this Lady Wakefield knew so much about him while he knew nothing about her, but he concluded it didn't really matter. The only possible choice he had was the one she was giving him. Maybe, David thought on a brighter note, if he were free, he might be able to find the person responsible for the girl's death and prove his own innocence. It was worth a try.
"What is it you want me to do?" he asked, ignoring the sting of his conscience.
"From this moment on, you will follow my direction in all things and never question me in anything I may ask you to do," Vivienne told him curtly.
David was silent for a moment, then answered tightly, "All right."
"Good." She tapped on the carriage roof twice and the vehicle lurched to a start.
"Where are we going?"
"To my home."
"But what about my things at the boardinghouse?"
"What do they matter? I want you to forget everything you knew before today. David Markham is dead. He's gone forever. You are now Alexander Wakefield, my son, and the future Duke of Huntington. You are about to get an intensive education concerning your new 'past.'"
David stared out the window, listening as her words bound him to her more tightly than ropes and chains ever could have.
The following two months passed in a blur of activity for David as Vivienne took over every aspect of his life. He was drilled incessantly on manners and protocol. He was lectured constantly on the Wakefield family history, and his relationship not only with his grandfather, but also with his aunt Catherine and Avery. She even described certain expressions that had been common to Alexander and had him practice before a mirror. Finally, by the sixth week
, David began to act the part of the future duke with an accomplished, natural ease that satisfied Vivienne's perfectionist standards.
Vivienne then turned her tutoring to other areas that would be necessary if he were to pass for Alexander. She had David memorize the floor plan of Huntington House so it would be familiar to him when he returned, and she reminded him over and over again of Alexander's love for the sea. She took him to a tailor and had an entire wardrobe made up for him. No expense was spared, and David almost would have enjoyed it, if his conscience hadn't bothered him. They were on their way now for the final fitting at the tailor's.
"Once more, Alexander, what was your favorite toy?" Vivienne quizzed. She had stopped calling him David that first night, for she'd wanted him to become accustomed to the name Alex. She was pleased that he now answered her without hesitation.
David looked thoughtful. For some unknown reason, he could not remember this. "A gun?" he asked rather than answered, and he was rewarded with a verbal barrage from his "mother."
"I have you told you a hundred times that your favorite toy as a child was a model boat. Your grandfather gave it to you and you practically slept with the thing! I'm sure it will come up at some time, so be prepared for it."
David looked shame-faced. "I'm sorry. It just seems so unimportant."
"It may to you and me, but we're not the ones we need to convince, now, are we?" she asked sarcastically as she glared at him across the carriage. Everything was going well, but she didn't want one little mistake to ruin things for them. "We have to be careful. Our stories need to match flawlessly. You have to be believable. If you're not . . ." She let the sentence hang.
David could almost feel the bite of the hangman's noose around his neck, and he gave her a determined look, "I will be. You chose me because I am a good actor. There will be no doubt in anyone's mind that I am Alexander Wakefield."
